


The Wheel Spins Round

by icefireSpirit_Wolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dragons, Drama, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm gonna finish my other fanfics I swear, Multi, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Slow Build, just something i thought of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icefireSpirit_Wolf/pseuds/icefireSpirit_Wolf
Summary: It's been months since Jon has returned to the North. There he now wanders alone and away from all he knows, while out there in the lands beyond he discovers he is not as alone as he thought.Daenerys had said she wanted to break the wheel, little did she know, she had reset it.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short set up, to understand Jon's frame of mind.

_Jon POV_

He stared into the flames before him, absently chewing away on the rabbit he had hunted that afternoon. The supple and rich meat passing through his lips and into his stomach with little regard. He tasted nothing, felt nothing, he was as cold and desolate as the landscape he found himself in.

He lifted his eyes to wander over the open plains, what was once frigid ice and snow was now delicate grasses, and small white and yellow flowers just beginning to bloom awakened finally after their centuries of slumber.

He breathed in slowly, the air still held the slight chill of the north, the _true_ north. He snorted to himself as he lifted the rabbit haunch to take another bite. A low nicker drew his attention as he turned and glanced to his horse, alert and steady eyes met his before they lowered and returned their attention to the sweet grasses at his hooves.

He sighed out and finished the last of his meal, tossing his bones to the feet of the sleeping dire wolf on the other side of the fire. Ghost opened up a single eye, his large muzzle shifting forward to sniff at the bones, carefully the wolf lapped up the morsels, crunching the bones easily with his jaws.

He wiped his hands of the grease and leaned over to toss another small log into the fire. He leaned back and folded his arm beneath his head, cradling it as he looked up into the clear and pure sky above him, thoughts drifting through his mind like the gentle winds blowing around him.

Only months ago, he had been a King, leading and defending the North against the greatest foe this world had ever seen. He abandoned that crown to protect his people, in doing so he also abandoned his heart once more to a woman.

Taking a chance at love again, only to be burned by the flames…but then again her words drifted in his mind _‘Fire does not burn a dragon’_

But he had burned and been burnt plenty of times, yet still, here he was. Alive, somehow, but also forgotten, abandoned by the people he had led, exiled by those he had pledged to protect and serve…all because he did what had been right? She was a monster, hidden behind a beautiful face and smile. Perhaps if Rheagal hadn’t died, perhaps if Missandei wasn't beheaded in front of her…perhaps… He shook his head, Tyrion was right, what she did was inexcusable, nothing could justify it.

 _‘We can only help our people from places of power’_ Her ghost whispered in his mind again. He cursed and hit the ground with his fist.

She had power, she had armies, she had dragons…and yet it still wasn’t enough. Why hadn’t it been enough? Why couldn’t she be happy with what they had?

His questions would never be answered, she was gone. Dead by his hand, Kinslayer, Oathbreaker, he was the new black sheep of the realm. It was no wonder his Sister…no… _cousin_ suggested he join back with the Night’s Watch.

He snorted again at the humor of it. What exactly were they guarding for the realms of men? Direwolves? A few stray giant clans? Mammoths? The Night King was dead and gone, his magic faded from this world, perhaps in a thousand years or thousand-thousand years he may reappear, but it was not his duty to worry about.

He had no duties, his watch had ended long ago when he took a dagger in the heart. The thought caused him to bring his hand up to his chest, feeling over the place where that cold metal had sunk in, clean and quick as he stared into the eyes of the child he thought he could trust.

 _Trust._ Out of the handful of people he knew now, he could trust even fewer. Samwell Tarly in the South he trusted, Tormund he could trust…Ghost he could trust for the most part. Arya, wherever she was..so perhaps he had more than he thought.

But everyone else? A sister he had fought for, bled for, retook their ancestral home for. What did that get him? Jealousy and manipulation, her time in the south taught her well. A wolf pup left to be raised by a den of lions. He didn’t blame her for how she turned out, she did what she had to to survive, they all did.

So why was he the one being punished?

Did not all the good he had done outweigh that one action? He was late to saving those in King’s Landing but surely the rest of the world would be thankful he had ended the threat before it turned to devour them?

All the threats he had faced, the people he had brought together, turning once enemies into allies, uniting people under a single cause…only for it all to fall away under the blade of a knife.

Perhaps he should have let her burn them all.

That thought frightened him, made him shift in fear beneath his skin. Was he now becoming like his ancestors? The Targaryens? The ones he bore a namesake to?

Though he did not have the silver hair or violet eyes, that same blood flowed within his veins. The Dragon’s blood and wolf’s blood fighting within. For so long the wolf had remained the winner, was that now beginning to change?

He grunted as he sat up, glancing at the now dying embers of the fire he wondered how long had he laid there musing? Or brooding as Tyrion would say.

He missed the half-man, sometimes his wit and humor was off-taste for him, but he was the man who supplied him with the greatest piece of advice.

_‘Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.’_

Years ago back at Winterfell, Tyrion told him exactly that. Quoted it at him like words of wisdom from a book. It had worked for the longest time, him learning and accepting that he was a Bastard, _really_ accepting it.

But what now? He wasn’t a Bastard, he was Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name rightful King of the- There he went again. He kicked some dirt into the fire, wiping out the last embers as he picked up his saddle bag’s and blanket, strolling back to his horse he began to tack him up, stopping to give Frost a few scratches on the neck.

Tying off the cinch he swung the last of his gear over the horse's croup, securing it in place with rope. He gave a whistle to Ghost as he swung his leg into the saddle, drawing up on the reins he set off. All the while his mind debating what to do next.

That was the question that haunted him, hung around in the air over his head. He had no one and nowhere to go. He had stayed with Tormund and his people for a month or so, helping them find a place to build a village. It kept him occupied, kept him busy, gave him something to do instead of sitting in a corner replaying _that_ moment in his head all the time.

But no matter what he did, or how much he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t help but feel like an outsider to them. They cared about him, worshiped him like a King if the Freefolk did have a true King.

Yet he couldn’t allow himself to be crowned with that burden once more. It didn’t feel right, as much as he was the North, and as much as Tormund claimed this is where he belonged…he didn’t. He didn’t fit in anywhere, not in the south and not in the north. So when the Wildlings were set up and happy, he paid his respects to Tormund and to all the rest, then he turned and left, saying that one day he may be back. He didn’t know if he would, but perhaps he might, until then onwards he searched for purpose again.

Perhaps he would try finding it in the east, so east he went, guiding frost over the wide and lonesome landscape, every so often seeing a herd of wild horses or elk in the distance. Ghost would give a bark and give chase, sometimes managing to bring a creature down, other times not.

He walked Frost until he knew it was time to set up a camp, he found a small cropping of rocks, tall enough to give them protection from the wind and to provide a barrier between him and the wild landscape of the north.

In silence he started a fire, tossing small twigs and sticks from brush into it to keep the small flames going. He relaxed next it and glanced out towards the setting sun, wrapping his cloak around him he prepared himself for the inevitable chill air of the northern prairie.

He also braced himself for another inevitability.

As the setting sun sunk slowly into the ground casting long and dark shadows as it left. Another long and dark shadow filled the sky overhead. A rumbling and piercing cry that stretched on for miles only for it to go unanswered as the creature landed many feet away, the ground shook beneath its hulk. Frost snorted and paced in place, the horse just beginning to get used to the dragon’s presence.

Sniffing the air, Drogon slowly eased towards the small fire before his feet. Stopping several feet away, only to give him an unblinking stare before the dragon curled in on itself, slowly transforming into a large black mountain in the middle of a desolate space.

The first time the Dragon had come to him, he had been ready to die. Fully expecting it in fact, he had killed its mother, slew her in cold blood. He knew the creature wasn’t stupid, it had a mind much like theirs. So when Drogon flew overhead, causing Frost to rear and toss him, running off into the distance only for Drogon to land before him, growling, hissing and snapping.

He stood and closed his eyes, just as he did in the Throne room. Waiting for the flames to scorch over his bones and burn him to death.

But Drogon didn’t, the dragon snapped at him, refused to let him leave or get closer. Instead, Drogon stared down at him for the longest time before a paw began to shift forward, massive and terribly clawed it approached him in a rather calm and languid manner.

He took a step back, causing the creature to growl once more. Then something small and sliver fell from the dragon’s foot. He glanced down, risking taking his eyes from the last remaining dragon.

There. nestled in a patch of earth and grass something lay. Glinting in the light he carefully leaned down and picked it up, studying it in his hand, awestruck on how it came to be here. It was a pin, not just any pin. _HERS._ The sigil of House Targaryen, the three-headed dragon.

But there weren’t three dragons, only Drogon was left, and who knew if any more would be born. Or if anymore existed in some small portion of the world untouched by man. Perhaps Arya may find out.

As he stood there, staring down at the pin, contemplating what it meant. Drogon blew a gust of hot air from his nostrils, nearly knocking him back before the dragon reared back, spreading his wings and blocking out the sun for a brief moment.

Then the dragon took off, leaving him alone once more.

Ever since then, the dragon came to him at night. Never attacking, or moving closer, only laying there just beyond the fire's light. A part of him pitied the creature, it was alone in the world, just like him. A gust of wind blew through the camp and nearly snuffed out the fire before him.

 _‘A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.’_ Measter Aemon’s old and crackled voice had said to him once.

He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders, risked taking a few of his larger pieces of wood from his supplies to feed to the fire. Northerner or not, you always kept a good fire burning.

Just as he began to toss a small log unto his paltry flame it went out for good this time. He cursed and growled at the fire before he went about trying to save the embers. Gathering them up he piled on small twigs of dried grass he blew on them hoping to start a flame.

It was all for not though, the wind kept blowing out any small flicker of fire he could manage. Frustrated and growing irritated he gave up and walked over to Ghost, ready to contend to sleeping next to the direwolf for warmth that night.

He settled down next to the direwolf, wrapping an arm around the wolf as it rested its head on his chest. The heaviness of the animal making him grunt and labor uncomfortably for air, but he didn’t move it away.

He heard a rumble of a growl in Ghost’s throat and he darted his eyes to where the albino wolf was snarling. A loud shuffling could be heard int he night, heavy breathing, like the bellows of a forge filling up before a quick and powerful burst of flames lit up the night air around him.

Crackling and singeing the air, he ducked beneath Ghost who loyally placed himself overtop of his body. Frost at this point was screaming and kicking at his hobbles, falling over in his panic.

Just as fast as the fire lit of the night it faded. Thick white fur obscuring most of his vision he glanced over to see the hulking form of Drogon return to his position, folding up his wings and tail, curling into a tight ball the dragon returned to sleep.

In the darkness he met the red eye of the dragon, they gazed at each other for several moments before the dragon blinked, then turned it’s head to sleep.

He to turned his head and was surprised to see his fire had been reignited thanks to Drogon. Ghost whimpered and settled back down against his side, licking at his hands and face. He smiled at the affection from the direwolf before he buried a hand into the wolf’s fur, scratching alongside his ears.

Frost managed to calm down as well, the horse figuring out how to stand back up so that it could graze during the night. In the darkness beyond the flames, the slow and powerful breathing of the world’s greatest weapon slept.

Jon didn’t sleep for a while, he stayed awake, looking up as thousands and thousands of silver-white stars twinkled in the obsidian night sky, lights of countless colors danced overhead, no doubt it was the flames of the god’s hearth as they feasted in the heavens.

As he lay there contemplating life and his actions he made up until that point, a part of him thought of something he hadn’t before.

Perhaps he wasn’t alone Targaryen, and perhaps Drogon was not the last dragon. He found himself reaching into his pocket and pulling out the Three-headed dragon pin. Perhaps there was a reason Drogon returned this to him, a reason he stayed nearby even though he had murdered the dragon’s mother.

Perhaps there was a reason, and he intended to find out.


	2. Guided

_Jon_

Like every morning since leaving the Freefolk, he awoke to Ghost licking his face. He grimaced but laughed as he wrestled away from the massive hound. Rolling over and gazing over the smoldering remains of last night's fire, the grass around it singed black from Drogon's flames. He lifted his head and turned to Drogon, still sleeping curled up away from them. That was strange, usually, the dragon left at dawn. 

In the light rays of the morning, he looked over the dragon, black as pitch, with hints of hed along its many spines and scales, it was a monstrosity by any right. A great hulking beast, a weapon of war. Terrible and dangerous he should be afraid of the creature, a part of him was...but a part of him also remembered how it felt to climb aboard such a beast. The scales were sharp, but had a smoothness to their texture, like stroking the inside of a clam or shell.

The spines and ridges moved and poked out from the neck, making the dragon look larger when puffed up, but also showing the creature's emotions. It was incredible how such a thing existed in their world, a part of him feeling sad that at one point they had died out.

Deadly, but beautiful that is what dragons were, just like a direwolf. He snorted to himself as he glanced down to Ghost who lay at his feet digging his nose into the earth, nipping at a worm. He wondered what Ghost would think if he had found out he had compared the wolf to a dragon. But he would never know, direwolves didn't think like dragons, they weren't common beasts of burden.

He reached over and into his bag, tearing off a piece of meat from one of the slabs he had gathered yesterday. Hacking off a few choice cuts from one of Ghost's kills, he usually would wrap them up and cook them over the course of a few days, keeping both he and the wolf alive.

But today he did not cook the meat, instead, he dropped a morsel down to Ghost then stood, cautiously he approached the still sleeping Drogon, the dragon's breathing calm and slow yet rumbling loud like thunder overhead. His mind raced back to the last time he had gotten so close to the dragon, the day Dany had returned from her skirmish on the Gold road. She road the dragon confidently towards him, Drogon leaping over the vibrant green grasses and rocks of DragonStone towards him.

He remembered shrinking back in terror, but a small part of him feeling drawn to the dragon, just like it did now.

He stopped a foot or two away from the Dragon's mighty head, it's nostrils twitching as it breathed in its slumber. Unsure of what would happen next he braced himself before speaking softly.

"Drogon" He stated, calm and low, a friendly greeting to an acquaintance.

The large red eyes fluttered open in an instance, a low rumbling in the back of the dragon's throat. Perhaps he had been mistaken last night, perhaps he had pushed their respected boundaries past the point of comfortability.

Drogon's eyes narrowed, his frills lifting and swaying as the creature contemplated how best to kill him. He remained still, reminding himself he had always been a Northern fool, Targaryen blood or no. Drogon inched his massive muzzle towards him, nostrils flaring as it breathed in his scent. He carefully and painstakingly slowly lifted his hand with the meat closer to the dragon. Compared to the dragon it wasn't much meat, a handful of meat was a trifle compared to his size.

But it was better than nothing.

"Thank-you...for the fire" He managed to say, his lips barely moving. Drogon blinked, did he understand? Could he comprehend? A part of him hoped he did. He remembered when he rode Rheagal, the memory of feeling as though the dragon was responding to his thoughts flashed into his mind. Could Drogon do the same? Or was there too much bad blood between them, then again, if Drogon hated him, why did he let him live?

Unless the dragon didn't hate him, and that thought confuddled him more.

Drogon's lip touched the meat, a gentle nudge before the dragon's mouth opened wide, thousands of sharp fangs, rows upon rows filled the dragon's mighty mouth. A large blackened tongue curled backward as Jon could make out the small glands in the very back of the dragon's throat that helped produce its flames. The scent of sulfur and rotting meat, sweet and pungent blew over him he coughed once before instinctively tossing the small morsel into the dragon's mouth.

The jaws closed shut with a loud and echoing snap, one that made him thankful he was not the morsel of meat being swallowed. After consuming the tidbit, the dragon looked down at him silently, he unsure of what more Drogon wanted, what more he was allowed to do.

Despite his previous hesitation and fear, he found himself lifting his hand slowly once more, fingers shaking slightly as he delicately pressed his fingertips to the dragon's dark snout. Upon touching he felt himself get struck with an odd energy, a calmness beginning to unfold within him. He felt... _safe_ with the dragon here, protected by it. It was just them that was left of Old Valyria, although they once stood on opposite sides, now they only had each other.

He didn't know if this thought was his or the dragons, or something in between. But he withdrew his hand and nodded.

"So that's how it is then?" he said out loud. Drogon carefully lifted his head up, blinking once the dragon began to stretch out his wings before with a triumphant pump of it's majestic and powerful wings the dragon took off into the sky. Jon stared after the black shape, for a moment he wished he was upon the beasts back, but he knew deep down that even though they were beginning to see eye to eye, Drogon was far from ready to accepting another rider.

He returned back to his fire, cooking some meat for him to eat as he tossed Ghost small hunks. He nibbled on a few berries and wild seeds that he had picked up along the way, both from plants Ygritte had shown him. He frowned, he hadn't thought of her in some time, he had learned to move from what they had, accepted it, and cherished it in his mind, but life continued on. The wild and fierce Wildling woman would always be his first love, but she would not be his last.

That is if he ever could learn to love again, so far he has had shit luck in the regard, both women he cared about died in his arms. One he cradled hunched over in the snow, arrows piercing her, the other he stabbed through the heart in one final kiss. His love for them was their downfall, was he a cursed being? Doomed to wander as all those he dared to love die in some way by his hand?

If it was true then the blood of Old Valyria would truly end with him.

He couldn't think of matters like this right now, there was no point. He finished the last of his morning meal, kicked dirt over the embers. Gathered up twigs and branches from nearby brush to use for tonight's fire then he got Frost ready to ride. He did all of this in silence, keeping his mind from wandering to thoughts far too complicated for his mind.

He rode Frost eastward, not really knowing what he was looking for or why, but he felt like this was where he was to go. He wondered if anyone from Westeros had been this far North and lived to tell the tale, was the views he was seeing the first views done by someone from the south? It made him feel small at the notion but also filled him with yearning, this land was truly magnificent, past the miles of stretching grassland, the rolling hills, and mountains in the distance.

It was by far larger than all of the Seven Kingdoms, strike that, it was now only six correct? It didn't matter, here there were no Kingdoms, only untouched land, brimming with potential but will most likely remain untouched. What a waste, if the Freefolk truly wanted, they could make a kingdom overnight from all of this, those mountains undoubtedly rich in iron and precious metals, these large flat expanses would be good for crops, if properly cared for and crop rotated on the regular.

There were forest's aplenty, filled with game and lumber. Maintain the forests just like you maintain the land and you would have wood and supplies to last for generations onwards.

He occupied himself with these thoughts and musings, it gave him a better outlook on everything, moving past all the happenings from the south he concentrated on what could be done here in the North. If only the Freefolk banded together and made something of themselves, not that they hadn't...but well, their armor was animal hides and their weapons were bones and whatever they stole from the dead.

They had their own cultures and their own ways of life, but wouldn't it be so much better if they were more organized like the south? It was possible to have both, to remain strong and independent while also maintaining a certain degree of _at least_ basic hygiene.

Then again, the North had been a harsh and hard land, it was no wonder the Freefolk became just like it. However, it was different now, there was _peace_ and now was the time to prosper, he just hoped Tormund and all the rest would see it that way. He leaned down and patted Frost's neck, turning and whistling to Ghost the three of them moved into a light lope before he glanced upwards into the sky, the great Drogon floated so high up he looked like another bird taking to the air. 

Carefully the dragon banked eastward, and setting himself in his seat, he followed.

* * *

It was a few weeks later, perhaps a month? It was so hard to tell how many days had passed with everything. Carefully he used his reining hand and heels to help guide Frost down the rocky embankment, dark gray shale rocks sliding and falling down the side of the hill as they descended. Overhead Drogon flew in tight circles, his relationship with the dragon had progressed to the point where he could approach the dragon and slide his hands over he creature's head and neck in a friendly manner.

At night he would talk out loud to the dragon, mostly he talked about his time on the watch, things he had seen and experienced, sometimes he spoke of life in Winterfell, but too many emotions bubbled up when he spoke of his home. He felt like the dragon listened, whether he understood or not was a different matter entirely.

Drogon at times would help light his fire at night, an act that always caused everyone but the dragon to panic, however, he was getting accustomed to flames licking over his head just barely missing his skin and hair. One thing he missed about the south was the ability to shave on the regular, he only could trim his beard and hair whenever he came across a stream or a pond when wandering the northern steppe.

He blinked as he turned his gaze outward, the salty air of the sea hitting him fully. He had done it, he had gone as far east as possible, now staring out over a portion of the Shivering Sea. Far south of where he was seated on Frost was the Haunted Forest, southwest of him was Thenn and the FrostFang mountains. He smiled to himself, gazing over a portion of sea that perhaps no other knew of.

He like always was mistaken, for as he turned Frost to face northward along the sandy shoreline, he found his mouth dropping open for a second, instinctively his hand fell down to Longclaw's pommel. Ghost came from behind him and charged forward a few feet before standing his ground and growling at the figure several yards away. Hackles raised and snarling Frost danced beneath him, sensing the energy coming from the wolf and his rider.

Above him Drogon began to descend, he shouldn't feel worried or afraid for the dragon, but he had seen Red Priestesses magic, and he didn't know what this one was capable of. He still did not draw his sword just yet, she stood at ease, the look knitted on her face was one of welcome, she stood perched on the shore, her long red dress blending into the sand as he equally long sleeves draped down in front of her.

Her hair was as dark as his, pulled up and away from her face before falling down the back of her neck in long curling waves. Her eyes a soft blue, framed by delicate lashes. Skin pale and smooth with plump pink lips. She was beautiful and after so long of not seeing a woman even a Red Priestess made him thankful to see a feminine figure.

She smiled, the smallest of gaps in her teeth as she took a step forward. Ghost growled out all the louder, snarling once in a final warning. She glanced at Ghost, another soft smile curling on her lips before she dropped one of her hand's palm first towards the wolf, stunned he watched as Ghost relaxed, his fur laying back down and his hackles lowering. Ghost gave a soft whine before approaching the woman and licking at her hand.

"Traitor" He mumbled under his breath, as he decided this woman was not a threat.

"I am not a threat Jon Snow" she eased out, calm and clear, the way she spoke reminding him of Melisandre. He didn't know if that was a good comparison to have or not. He dismounted from Frost and patted the horse on the neck once, taking Longclaw with him just in case.

He stepped up towards her, stopping a foot or so away. He nodded at her.

"You have me at an advantage, you know my name, but I do not yet know yours." He stated studying her figure, she was short and slim, he noted she had the same metal choker necklace as Melisandre had. Perhaps that was a mark of their religion, their source of power?

"I have been waiting for you Jon Snow" she replied to him easily, giving Ghost a final scratch on his head before she waved the animal off. The wolf instinctively wandered back to his side, relaxed and panting with his tongue handing out.

"You still did not answer my question" He retorted, frowning as he turned to scan over the sea once more. How he hated talking to followers of the Lord of Light, they spoke in near riddles, and always vaguely would answer with something or another about the Lord of Light.

"I am Kinvara, I was once the First Servant to the Lord of Light at the Red Temple in Volantis." She explained calmly, blinking slowly as her eyes stared up at him. He tilted his head, "How is it you came to be here? How is it you know my name...how did you know where to find me?" He demanded from her, suddenly aware of how far away from _everything_ he was and yet here she was.

She smiled once more, her dark brows lifting in mirth.

"All of those questions have a same answer, the Lord of Light guides me." She replied in such a cheerful tone he wondered if she was mocking him.

He snorted in frustration and shook his head "Of course he did, but why? Where was the Lord of Light after the Night King fell? Where was the Lord of Light when Daenerys Targaryen burned King's Landing-" He cut himself off, realizing he was yelling at this woman now.

"I have answers to all of those questions, but let us not speak here, come we can speak aboard my ship, your horse and direwolf will be seen to, your dragon...he can take care of himself as he always has." She said carefree as if she was used to speaking to people who were in possession of a dragon.

"Ship?" he asked, and the Priestess turned and pointed, he scanned to where she motioned and indeed a small sailing vessel was anchored just offshore, sails dyed the deepest red. How had he not seen it before?

"He isn't my dragon" He replied glancing behind to where Drogon had landed down from them on the beach, head lowered he spied on the Priestess with a guarded look.

"Not fully, but with time he shall now come Jon Snow, or do you wish to be called Aegon?" Kinvara asked lifting her brow. He nearly jumped in his skin at the use of the name. Of _course,_ she knew that as well. He didn't even have to ask, no doubt it was the fucking Lord of Light.

"Jon" he replied stiffly, eyes cast towards the small rowboat at the edge of the waterline.

"Very well Jon Snow, there is much to speak about, the Lord of Light is not finished with you, he will not be finished with you for a long time." Kinvara quipped out gliding next to him on the beach. "Great" He retorted with a shake of his head it felt forced to be speaking with another person after so long being alone. He made one last look over his shoulder to Drogon seated on the beach, the dragon huffed before it took to the sky again.

"I thought to be done with dragons and the Lord of Light months ago" He commented as he put a hand out to assist Kinvara into the boat. She seated herself down the motioned to him to pick up the oars. He glared at her as he pushed them into the waves, hopping up into the boat he took hold of the oars and began to row.

"You were never done Jon Snow, there is much more to come, you were wrong about the great war, there is another yet to come." He halted in his rowing and stared at the woman. She chuckled under her breath. "Do not worry, it will be a few years from now, as I said, we have much to discuss when we reach my ship." After that, the Priestess went quiet and no amount of questions drew anything more than a smile from her.

He sighed to himself and glanced at Drogon in the sky above them. _'I blame you'_ he thought before he realized he had down this all on his own, following his own inclination. So perhaps, he was guided by the Lord of Light, and that idea did not sit well with him. It did not sit well with him at all.


	3. New Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but very important conversations happen.

_Jon_

When they reached the ship that was anchored out in the choppy surf, a few sailors from above cast down a rope ladder to climb. He steadied the boat as Kinvara clamored up the ladder, when she had reached the top and turned to look down at him before giving him a nod. He sighed and climbed up the ladder, wondering to himself why he had agreed to come aboard an unknown ship in the middle of nowhere.

He could have turned and run back into the wilds of the North, he could have turned and headed back south. But he didn't because even though he didn't want to admit it, the longing in his chest was not for other people, but for _purpose_. To be needed again, to have a goal in mind, all his life he had shunned the idea, but after seeing all of those in power _abuse_ it, take advantage of their people instead of helping them.

He began to long for the power, not because he liked the idea of holding dominion over another...but because he wanted to make things better for those he cared about, protect them, help them grow. _That_ is what a leader does, though at times it could be stressful and overwhelming...he did miss it deep down.

So now here he was clamoring up unto an unsteady ship deck, all around him were a dozen or so men, shaved heads and faces, wearing several layers of red fabric, not as intense or rich as Kinvara's gown but he could still tell these men most likely followed the faith of the Lord of Light.

 _"Brng zȳhon anne se zokla"_ Kinvara commanded the men, all of them nodded before they moved about the ship each to their own post. His sailing experience was minimal, most of it was spent white-knuckling the tables in his room as he just managed to keep his stomach contents where they remained. So he had no idea what the sailors were doing or what was happening.

"They are going to bring the ship to shore, to board your horse and wolf," Kinvara explained noting his confusion. He only gave her a nod before glancing around at the men and the ship "Seems like a lot of work for them for a simple conversation." He mused before tugging his cloak around him tighter, winter may be over but the north will still always bear a chill. Kinvara kept a steady gaze on him her eyes peering up into his in an unnerving way as she remained silent.

She gave a smile after a few moments, "The Lord of Light is gracious to all his guests, and these men serve him as well as me." She turned and motioned towards the door that led down into the belowdecks of the ship. He gave a grunt as he passed by her, she led him down the first flight of narrow stairs until they reached a long and dark hallway, dimly lit with only a few small oil lanterns. Kinvara led him into a small room, he blinked a few times upon entry as his eyes got adjusted to the lighting.

The gentle rocking and swaying of the ship began to make his head throb dully and stomach feel queasy. The feeling made him remember a distant conversation with Theon, about how those in the inland always got seasick whereas he being a Grayjoy never did, his blood was the salt of the sea. Jon felt a small smile tug on his lips as he looked back fondly on those days, long ago when they were both still growing up in Winterfell, him a Ward, and he a Bastard. In some ways they had been in the same lot, both of them outcasts, treated with a distant guiding hand versus those who were trueborn Starks.

Eventually though, they all came to care about one another like true siblings, he, Robb and Theon growing up side-by-side, trained and taught by Lord Stark. Brothers they were, not by blood, not fully anyway but by bond.

But now all of them were dead, Eddard resting with the rest of the King's of Winter in the crypts, Theon burned with all the rest outside the gates of Winterfell...and Robb...it was unknown what happened to his body, most likely it was tossed into the trident after being mutilated, both he and Catelyn Stark washed away to some unknown grave together. It was fitting in a way, Robb had always been her firstborn and favorite, it was right for them to be together, even in death.

"Lost in thoughts Jon Snow?" Kinvara's voice said in an amused manner, dragging him out of his memories. He glanced at the Priestess, she was lighting a few more lanterns around the room, it was sparsely decorated, a table and a few chairs, a small unused cot in the corner bolted into the floor. There was a small wardrobe on the left-hand wall, next to it a dresser and washbasin placed. On the wall to his right, there hung a tapestry with the Lord of Lights emblem, a heart surrounded by fire.

"You do not have to keep calling me Jon Snow, just Jon is fine." He requested as he walked forward and sat down in a chair at the table. It felt so strange to be sitting on a wooden chair, he was so used to rocks and hills or sitting on Frost's back that the feeling of such rigidity almost made him feel uncomfortable.

"Very well Jon" Kinvara answered him, pulling back her chair and collapsing gracefully into her seat.

"You said there is another war to come, whose war will it be and how do I fit into it." He asked as he began to release the straps to his cloak, shrugging it off his shoulders and letting it flop over the back of the chair.

"You are straight forward aren't you?" Kinvara stated with a light chuckle before she cleared her throat "Very well, Jon, the vision I saw in the flames was one of this, two wolf packs, equal in strength and size charge towards one another on a white field." She began, one of her hands sliding forward to the candle in the middle of the table, her finger toyed just above the flame, the skin of her fingertip glowing brightly as she hovered her finger over it.

Her eyes meeting his, she lifted a brow the slightest amount, lips pursing she cast her sight to the candle in front of her.

"One pack is led by a white wolf, the other black with fire in its eyes." She continued her voice growing colder for a few moments. He jolted as the ship began to groan and creak, he glanced around confused for a second before relaxing, the ship must be nearing the shore, it's hull scraping against the sandy bottom.

Kinvara was undisturbed, she continued her ministration of hovering her finger over the candle's flickering flame.

"Finally, above this battle of wolves, three dragons circled in the skies above." She gave a sigh and leaned back in her chair, remaining silent she studied him with a curious glance. He sighed and rested his elbow on the table, cradling his head from the dull pounding in his temple.

"You believe me to be the white wolf leading the one pack?" He asked her, already knowing the answer. She nodded "I do, you were named the white wolf when they crowned you King in the North, in your current possession you have a white direwolf." He shrugged, she wasn't wrong. But who was the black wolf? The only other direwolf pup that survived into adulthood was Nymeria, and Arya had stated the she-wolf was now a member of her own pack in the wild, most likely an alpha and a mother.

"What of the dragons?" He asked her, three dragons were impossible unless there were wild ones still in some far corner of the world, which he doubted.

"The dragon as three heads" Kinvara eased out, reaching into her sleeve she pulled out a small necklace, on a delicate chain rested a small silver Targaryen symbol. He lifted a brow at her as she rested it on the table. "Where did you get that?" He asked feeling himself frown. Kinvara ran a finger over the pendent, softly she replied.

"I visited Daenerys once...at least I attempted to, she was gone instead I spoke to Tyrion Lannister and Varys the Spider, after speaking words with them I walked the streets of Myreen where I found a small stall selling these, although her rule in Meereen was turbulent...there was those who loved her dearly." She glanced over at him and slid the necklace across the table, he shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out the larger pin that Drogon had dropped before him.

Kinvara tilted her head and studied it for a few seconds before she pulled back the necklace.

"It seems you have one already" she mused as she placed the necklace back in her sleeve. He nodded and turned the pin over in his hands, the metal was cold against his skin.

"Drogon...he...kept it, it was hers" was all he could bare to say.

"He took the status his mother once held and gave it to you" Kinvara stated, making him drawback in surprise. 

"Why? I'm..." He sighed and trailed off, wrapping his hand tightly around the pin, the metal digging into his flesh, the three heads of the dragons imprinting into his skin.

"I'm the Kinslayer, I killed her, why would he...?" He cut himself off, glancing over at the Priestess. She was silent for a moment or two, her eyes glancing over to the porthole window, before skimming back over to him.

"No one can speak for a dragon, _but_ if I were to try..." Kinvara stood and walked over to the window, glancing out to the rugged northern shore fast approaching. "Dragons, are like those in the North, they respond to strength and confidence if you are lacking either...a dragon will not listen." She turned and faced him, her arms draped in front of her, hands clasping each other.

"Daenerys Targaryen...she was not as strong as she thought she was, she thought strength meant armies and status...positions of power, having those armies and having that power gave her confidence enough to control Drogon...but the moment she began to lose it..." Kinvara didn't have to continue on, he knew exactly what she meant.

"She didn't know what to do...and in her not knowing she..." He sighed as he thought about those last days. How withdrawn and empty she looked, cheeks sunken from not eating, dull and listless, the only thing she had in her was rage.

"She did what she thought would give her back her power...her control...but in doing so it unraveled her completely" Kinvara stated, her voice soft and sad, a shake of her head in disappointment. "Her flame was so bright for so long, many of us truly thought she was the one," Kinvara explained walking back towards the table, pausing to catch herself as the ship game to a sudden halt, the hull fully burying into the shore, the sounds of men above yelling to one another as he heard and saw ropes being cast over the sides of the ship, men retreating down them to clamor to the shore.

"Her power was hollow" He uttered with a coldness in his heart. "She thought the only way to lead was through strength, thought if she was strong nothing could harm her, no one could take advantage of her again...but that is not real power, that is not real strength..." He commented out loud glancing up to Kinvara who lowered herself into the chair again. She nodded "Real strength is earned, not given, all her life things were handed to her...there were a few things she fought for and bled for...but most if not all were given to her because of her name and blood." Kinvara expressed with some disdain.

He shook his head "That's not true, she had suffered greatly to earn-" he began to protest but Kinvara cut him off.

"Just because you suffer does not mean you have earned something, a person who sits in the fire and does nothing to save themselves but wait for others to put the fire out...they are not brave or strong..they are fools." The Priestess hissed and a frown. 

"Daenerys did suffer at the hands of many, that is true, some of those sufferings did give her the strength to keep going...but more often then not, blind luck and the strength of others saved her, She became Khaleesi through marriage, gathered together her Dothraki through means of deceit, burning a hut in the middle of the night and walking out of the flames, _of course_ the horse-people of the desert named her their Khal, and unquestioningly served her blindly."

"Her Unsullied?" Kinvara stated continuing in her explanation. 

"A smart but also deceitful trade, she had promised a master one of her dragons...then when the whip was in her hands she turned her dragon on the Masters gathered, slaughtered and burned them all..." Kinvara gave another shrug glancing back down to the candle in front of her.

"It was hard to see her for what she was, even the flames for the longest time could not unmask her...she hid it well, her beauty so young and unparalleled, and she always spoke of the fondest of dreams...a world without the wheel...peace and prosperity..." Kinvara chuckled and toyed with the flame once more, her finger hovering over it carefully.

"She was always going to be the villain, in the end, nothing was going to change it, even if all her children were alive, even if none of her cherished ones left her...she would have turned, in the end, it was inevitable, she never possessed the strength or control, and Drogon knew that...she burned down entire kingdoms to make sure she had that connection to her son" Kinvara divulged, causing Jon to shudder as he remembered that day in King's Landing, the sound of Drogon's fury, then the screams...the ash and horror that filled every street of that city.

"But her connection was already fading...it began to fade the moment...he met you." She said pinching the candle wick and snuffing out the flame in front of her.

He took a sharp breath and let it slowly, it couldn't be true. Rheagal he had bonded with better than Drogon.

"Drogon sensed your strength the day he first met you, all of the dragons did, the knew who you were before you knew it yourself...but she was still his mother and his rider, a dragon can only have one rider at a time...so when she was gone....though he grieved he also was happy, he could now bond himself with someone worthy." It was Jon's turn to stand up, he twisted away from the table and stormed over to the window, he stared out it and watched as a few of the sailors led Frost towards the now docked ship, towards the ramp where the horse would be loaded unto the ship.

 _'Why am I even allowing them to do this? Why should I stay and listen to this?'_ He thought with a frown as he processed all that was being told to him. A war between wolves, three dragons...Drogon choosing him over Daenerys, none of this was comforting knowledge to know.

"I'm not worthy...I...I've got more North in me than Targaryen" he stated turning back towards the Priestess. Kinvara stood, carefully smoothing out her gown as she walked over towards him. She looked out the window with him, both of them watching the black dot that was Drogon glide in the skies high above them.

"Perhaps that's what he wanted, you may not look it, but the blood of Old Valyria run's through you, combined with the strength of the old King's of Winter, it is enough for him." She explained gazing up fondly at the dark dragon.

"Why are you saying all this? Tell me, _exactly_ what the Lord of Light wants, not just this damned vision in the flames." Kinvara sighed but gave a nod, stepping backward away from him "He needs you to be the white wolf in the north, and he needs _you_ to be the one to gather his army...and the dragons." She said firmly, he nearly laughed at the idea. Where would he gather an army? Where in the hell would he find two more dragons, this was all nonsense.

"He wants _me_ to find an army and two dragons?" He scoffed, contemplating turning and being done with all of this. Climb on Frost and run back into the North...and yet...that nagging and yerning feeling overcoming him, this black wolf, whoever it may be, if the could bring together an army that could be equal to the strength of another army and _three_ dragons...then they were a person to be wary of.

If someone had that strength, who knows what they would do with it.

"Even if I wanted to...how could I? I have nothing, I cannot return to Westeros, I have no gold to pay for mercenaries...as for Dragons...perhaps they may be in the lands west of Westeros, or maybe a few dragon eggs still remain in Valyria." He commented with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"We will not need to travel that far, the Lord of Light guided me here for a reason, he chose _you_ for a reason." She stated eyes gazing up earnestly into his.

"I'm not the Prince that was promised...I don't have a burning sword and the darkness has already been vanquished." He retorted motioning down to Longclaw.

"Lightbringer does not have to be a physical sword...it can be a sword you carry in your heart." Kinvara pressed sternly as she pressed a hand to his heart. He jolted at the feeling of her flesh, even through his clothing she felt so incredibly warm, her handprint nearly scorching against his skin.

"A wolf black in color can turn to swallow the world, perhaps the Night King was not the darkness we needed to fear." She said softly turning her eyes back to the skyline as she let her hand fall away. He frowned, "Not sure how a creature commanding an army of undead would be less of a threat than a black wolf." Kinvara shrugged "For something that was whispered and feared for centuries...only to be destroyed in a single night...perhaps like always, mortals put their fears in the wrong shadows." 

He twitched at the thought, his mind brooding over the statement. Kinvara put a delicate and warm hand to his shoulder causing him to sway away from her but she held on tightly.

"This is a lot to be placed on your shoulders, I do not expect you to understand...just know that the Lord of Light is guiding you." She said gently, her eyes filling with a soft and careful light. He pursed his lips before sighing "What if I don't follow his faith? I follow the Old Gods, always have." He stated studying her to gauge her reaction.

She remained composed, not even a flinch, her lips curled slightly before she blinked once.

"Then I shall hold the faith, worship your gods as you wish, but know the Lord of Light sees you his champion, anything that happens to you is his doing...not theirs." She then stepped away from him and walked back over to the table. She picked up the Targaryen pin and flipped it over within her hands before she carefully twisted back around to face him.

Her eyes lifted up to his and she hummed under her breath.

"I know what we are to do first, before our armies we must find the other two heads of the dragon, to find a dragon...you must _be_ a dragon, Jon Snow," Kinvara stated before tossing the pin at him, he caught it and looked down at the silver emblem, the three roaring dragons nestled in a group next to each other. Above him he heard the roar of Drogon echoing throughout the area, he turned and looked out the window, the dragon landing on the shore and peering towards the ship.

Their eyes met and he regarded the dragon for a few moments, before glancing down to the pin. Slowly he lifted it up to his chest, finding a place to secure it. Usually, he would put it in his pocket or stuff it into his saddlebags, but right now it felt right to set it there, he was a Targaryen after all.

He turned to Kinvara and she smiled softly before she nodded. "He's ready" was all she said, and he didn't know if she meant Drogon or him, but he had a feeling she probably meant both.


	4. Be A Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some build-up finally! Also, the timing of stuff had been changed slightly from the last episode, we weren't given an exact amount of time of how long Jon was in the dungeon. It takes a month for northern forced to reach King's Landing, but, with the magic of D&D time travel that can't be considered accurate, so let's just say he was in the dungeon a month, the second month is how long it took him to get to the wall. Most likely spent a month or two with Tormund, before he went off by himself for another month or two.
> 
> So for the most part, timing makes sense, let me know what you guys think!

_Jon_

He was once again back on the rocky and sandy shore, behind him, the water crashed languidly against the shoreline. He turned his head as Kinvara walked up next to him, she looked over and studied him silently for a few seconds, her face set in a neutral expression. He glanced down to the three-headed dragon pin on his shoulder, it felt so strange to see it on his chest, he was so accustomed to seeing it on _hers_.

"You sure about this?" He asked Kinvara, lifting his eyes up to watch as Drogon carefully descended towards the ground, wings extended fully a huge black mass that took up a large portion of the skyline, at least to him that's what it felt like.

"Do not let your confidence falter now Jon Snow, go to him." She responded nodding her head to the large hulking beast that landed with a thud on the shore, a slight tremor running through the ground as the dragon landed. Jon took a deep breath, slowly though his nose then exhaling out through his mouth, just as Eddard had taught him when he was young, first learning about swords.

As a Bastard, it was up to Eddard on whether or not he would receive formal training, Catelyn of course was against it. She was against everything when it came to him. He couldn't exactly fault her, in her eyes _he_ was the constant reminder of her husband's infidelity, Lord Stark's shame. To rear another woman's child alongside your own had to be both humiliating and taxing on her honor. He never asked or wanted her to love him like a mother would a son, didn't expect it, but he had been civil as he could be, kind as he could be, and she still would rake her ice-cold eyes over his figure wherever he stood.

But that was in the past, she was dead, and he had never been a shame on her honor, he was the son of Rheager Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, the only honor being marred was Eddard's for taking the lie to his grave. But perhaps that was the honorable option? He opened his eyes and set them on his target, stepping forward he walked towards Drogon.

Each step brought many internal struggles within him, all his doubts and fears growing up, the struggles he ended up enduring, the jeers and hatred he received from both Catelyn and men on the Nights watch. But none of that mattered as he closed in on Drogon, the dragon sensing something different as he approached. The dragon lowered his head and he came to a halt in front of Drogon, the two of them staring at each other.

Drogon leaned forward and sniffed him a few times, nostrils flaring as the dragon's eyes pinpointed to the pin on his chest. The black slits of Drogon's eyes narrowed for a second before expanding. The black creature studying him a few seconds longer.

Eddard Stark was dead, Catelyn was dead, Ygritte was dead, all of his friends except for Samwell Tarly were dead, Tormund was with his people, Arya was halfway across the world and both Bran and Sansa had kingdoms of their own. The Night's Watch was a joke, and Daenerys Targaryen was defeated by his hand. The last Targaryen in everyone's mind was gone, the end of a dynasty.

Eddard, the man who raised him, had always said _'When the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives'_ How fitting a phrase for a Stark, they were the wolves of the North. All his life he counted himself a part of the pack, perhaps an outcast and lowest in the pack, except of course, when they had need of him. But now they had no need of him, Bran and Sansa had their own packs, and Arya had always been a lone wolf, it suited her and she was a pack in her own right.

But all of them had made the same mistake, from Eddard to all the rest. Even he had made it as well.

He reached a hand forward and rested it on Drogon's nose, feeling the hum of energy that filled him. He let his hand run along the dragon's snout, gliding it over the smooth and jagged scales, layers of obsidian armored unto muscular flesh.

A lone wolf would have perished out here in the North so far away from any pack. But he had never been a wolf, he was realizing this now as he stepped up to the shoulder of Drogon, the dragon shifted itself down into the ground, lowering it's hulking form so accept him. He grunted as he hauled himself up the thick muscular sides, finding grips in the large scales and fins that ran along Drogon's neck and back.

The climb was exhilarating and filled him with excitement as he managed to swing his leg unto the other side of the dragon's mass, him sitting precariously on the dragon's mighty back. The power he felt sitting there, it surged through him and sung in his veins. Confidence and pride filled him. He was astride one of the most dangerous and powerful creatures in the world. He felt Drogon shift beneath him, the rumble of the dragon's breath echoing in the air around him.

Wings extending outwards the dragon reared back before letting out a bellowing roar, a screech that most likely could be heard on for miles. A small jet of flame extending out past the creature's lips. He found himself smiling as he strengthened his grip on the dragon's spines.

He may be considered the White Wolf, but from this day forward, he was a dragon, and he would _always_ be a dragon.

Drogon took a lurching step forward before his wings caught the air under him, heaving the both of them off the ground they took flight. The alation of taking flight once more, after so long of being grounded. The wind tore at his hair blowing it wildly in the wind, the surge and rush of bitter cold blasting over his skin. He gripped tightly to Drogon, as the dragon climbed up higher into the air, the ship and the shore being left behind at such high speeds.

He patted the dragon's neck, like he would do Frost's when riding. Even let out a hoot of joy as if he was a young boy again.

He leaned over the dragon's neck, using it to shield himself from the chill of the howling wind blowing around him. He twisted so that he could shift himself to the left a little way and look ahead at Drogon's head, trying to catch the dragon's bright red eye. Drogon carefully craned his head backward a foot or so, so that their eyes could meet.

 _'II thought it would be just you and me now boy, but from what Kinvara claims, that might not be the case'_ He thought to himself and to the dragon, unsure if Drogon could sense his thought or understand, but he swore he saw a slight nod in the dragon's head as it turned back away from him, banking to the right Jon pressed his body flat against the scales as he and Drogon soared over the Shivering Sea.

The one question he had in his mind, even though he was mostly occupied in the sheer excitement of flying upon a dragon's back. Was the thought of, even if he _did_ find other dragons how on earth would he find a way to have them follow him as Drogon did? Would his blood be strong enough in their eyes? Or would it require something more? He had a feeling, despite his reservations with Kinvara, she was proving to be his best bet for answers.

But he would wait for answers later, instead, he was going to relish in this feeling of godhood as he floated in the sky above the Shivering Sea, the deep azure mass of waves sparkling and gleaming in the light of the sun. They flew in several large circles, sometimes climbing higher before falling lower, both of them seeming to just be happy to be in the sky. No real goal or destination in mind. With ever rise and fall he grew more confident in his seat, and sat up taller, ignoring the cold of the air and concentrated on how best to move with the dragon.

Learning the muscle patterns as Drogon twisted and swayed in the air, understanding how the dragon worked as it flew, the cues the creature gave when it was going to fly higher or dive lower. When it wanted to suddenly bank or turn in the air. He had some experience with Rheagal, but there was a stark contrast between the two dragons. A part of him missed the smaller green creature, but to have Valyria reborn beneath him made the passing of Rheagal a bit easier to bear.

An hour or so later Drogon descended back down to the shore, the massive creature yawning as he climbed down from the dragon, figuring out the best place to grapple and step on without causing harm to the dragon's beautiful scales.

He stumbled to the ground and instantly felt strange to be walking on land, it was _limiting_ down here versus being in the sky. He turned to Drogon and nodded to the dragon. 

"Thank-you" he stated, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled away from the dragon. 

Kinvara approached cautiously, Drogon growled lowly in his chest at the Priestess. Kinvara halted and remained standing far enough away from Drogon. Jon couldn't help but feel his smile widen at the Priestess hesitation. _'At least dragons cannot be charmed like direwolves'_ he thought to himself.

" _Kirimvose_ " she rolled out, speaking in Valyrian. 

"What?" he asked confused.

" _Kirimvose_ , that is the Valyrian word for 'Thank you'" Kinvara explained.

Brow's furrowing he glanced to Drogon, clearing his throat he repeated the word, Valyrian felt so light and crisp on his tongue, versus the heavier and stern enunciation of the North that he was used to, but he managed to make his voice sound like hers.

"Kirimvose, Drogon" He uttered to the creature. Drogon snorted and shook his head before it lowered itself into the rocks, finding a place to nap wherever he pleased.

"If you are to be a dragon, it would be best for you to learn the language of your ancestors," Kinvara said turning back towards the ship. "We have much time to spend while we sail, it would be best to put it towards efforts of expanding your knowledge of Valyria and it's language." The Priestess continued lifting a brow in a knowing manner. He sighed and shrugged, it's not like he could argue, she was the one with the ship and the ability to see in flames, all he had was a horse, a direwolf, and a dragon.

"Do you know where we sail?" he asked her as the two of them walked back to the ship. She moving lightly next to him, her arms folded in front of her as the wind tore at her hair and dress.

"I have an inkling, I saw the vision of a sheep carrying a sprig of thistle, behind this sheep morning dawned over a smoking volcano." 

Jon stopped in his tracks as he stared after her. Noticing the look on his face she pursed her lips.

"This volcano was surrounded by seas that trembled in its shadow, this is called the shivering sea, I am thinking somewhere out there is an island with a volcano, much like Dragonstone it could be a cast-off of Valyria that traveled during the doom." She explained thoughtfully. He sighed and scratched at his beard, all of this was beginning to feel like a wild goose chase and he barely even started.

A war of wolves, a sheep with a thistle branch, and now a volcano located _somewhere_ in the shivering sea.

"Do you know how large the Shivering Sea is?" he asked staring out at said water, scanning the horizon in the hopes he could locate a smoking volcano.

"We know where it is not, so we must look in places even other seamen have dared not go." Kinvara pointed northwards "The Lands of Always Winter had kept portions of the sea frozen and unable to explore, now that the forever winter has ended there, those sea's are open to us" He followed her finger and remained silent, she made some sense, but the thought of exploring parts of the ocean no one else has gone, it was unnerving and exciting at the same time.

"I never said it would be easy Jon Snow, but I did say the Lord of Light would guide us." She stated turning back to him.

"Why doesn't he just give you a map instead of sending you visions of sheep" he grunted out, She chuckled and shook her head.

"He does not work that way" she retorted and he scoffed "Of _course_ he doesn't" in reply before following her back to the ship, the two of them climbing up the long thing gangplank that was laid out for them.

Reboarding the ship Kinvara showed him to the room they first spoke in. Upon entry, he was greeted with Ghost laying on the tiny cot bed, gnawing on a bone. He turned to Kinvara who gave him a smile "This will be your room, for the time being, food will be brought to you when needed, down the hall is where the privy is located, the bath, however, is communal but the men do not bathe until night so in the morning it is free." Kinvara explained, she motioned to the one corner where his saddlebags and all his worldly goods where placed.

"All of your items are there, and on the table are a few books on Valyria translated into the common tongue, _take care_ not to ruin them, translated copies are hard to come by." She stated with a warning glance. He gave a nod before turning back to her, hesitating for a second he cleared his throat.  
  


"Thank you..ah...Kirimvose, Kinvara" He said carefully, attempting to use the word he had been taught. Kinvara smiled before bowing her head _"kirimvose iksis daor jorrāelatan"_ She retorted easily and he felt light-headed hearing such a pattern of speech, how could he ever learn this language? With his slow and thick Northman drawl.

"Thanks is not needed, Jon, _iā zaldrīzes gaomas daor kirimvogon, mazēza_ " She quipped out easily. He furrowed his brows waiting for a translation. After a few seconds Kinvara shrugged "A dragon does not thank, he _takes_." She directed at him, a fierce look in her eyes.

With a scoff he retorted a "Let me guess, with fire and blood?" he said as a joke, a play on the Targaryen house words.

Kinvara was silent for a moment, the Priestess giving him a weighted glance before with the simple nod of her head she smiled "Exactly, rest well Jon Snow, your teaching begins tomorrow." He stared after her as she turned easily and glided out of the room, closing the door behind her. He jolted when the ship began to groan around him, as the sailors began to push it from shore. He walked over to the porthole, glancing out towards Drogon who snoozed in the sand.

He glanced down to the dragon pin on his chest, then felt something warm bump into his leg. He looked down at Ghost who sat beside him, the large direwolf tilted his head and gave a whine.

"Looks like we got ourselves into another mess boy, you willing to go through it all again?" He asked the wolf out loud. Ghost lifted one of his large paws and began to snatch at his leg, begging him for attention. He chuckled under his breath and let a hand lower so he could scratch the direwolf's head. He then turned and glanced at the table, to the books stacked there. Walking over he sat himself down with a grunt before reaching for the first one.

"Looks like we have a lot of work to do" He commented out loud, Ghost gave a sigh before collapsing next to him the wolf's large shoulder leaning against his leg. "Leave me to do all the reading eh boy? Don't worry, I'm used to it." He said softly before moving the candle closer to see the page he opened to. Squinting at the page he sighed before he began reading.

* * *

_Tyrion_

He walked rather lively into the mostly vacant throneroom. Newly repaired and back to its formal glory, the Stark sigil and colors decorated the banners around the hall. Under his breath, he hummed The Rain's of Castamere, an earworm of a song that nagged him ever since he heard it at his wedding.

Joanna Swyft, it was not a match of love, he had long given up the notion. It was a practical marriage, she was amiable and smart, and didn't treat him less as a person due to his height, and that was as good as true love for him. He was the last Lannister, well, aside from a third cousin Lyman Lannister, and wasn't there another? Reginald? But they were both _distantly_ related.

So a marriage to continue on the line was needed, he and her doing their duties to achieve that, and if the gods were merciful she would fall pregnant and he would gladly sacrifice a herd of cattle to make sure their children did not have the same affliction as he. Not that he wouldn't love them any less, but he knew how hard life could be as a 'half-man' and he didn't wish even his worst enemy a life such as his.

He approached the 'thone' a now clear pedestal in which Brandon Stark, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm was placed in his wheeled chair. The boy-king looked down at him with a rather calm and curious expression, he had to admit at times the King could be concerning, he spoke in a rather monotone manner and did _not_ act his age at all.

He was years wiser than most old men, as well as being clear-minded and fair, he listened to all arguments and discussion intently and after a few moments he would come up with an answer that suited all parties.

He was a strange King, but he was a _good_ King. No drama, no excess drinking or hunting, or murdering of puppies, nor was he cowering in the shadow of a Queen Regent.

"Tyrion, I am glad you had a safe return, do not worry the Swyft family will be more open to you in time." He easily stated in his strange but kind way. Tyrion bowed to the King before approaching "I thank-you for the words of comfort, the wedding went well, no poisoning's or murder's, and Joanna was incredibly beautiful in her gown, she will travel here within a month to be at court" He replied easily managing to draw a look of shock from Podrick who stood nearby in his KingsGuard attire, he gave a wink to the man who only shook his head and smiled.

Bran lifted the corner of his mouth only a fraction of an inch. Tyrion studied the Stark King, although he abandoned his thick fur clothes, he still wore the dark-colored drab of the North, he did not wear a crown, only a simple silver circlet, of which had a wolf head at the front and the designs of raven's flying etched into the metal as it wrapped around the boy's head.

"I have missed your humor" Bran stated gently before the man frowned.

"Is something the matter Your Grace?" he asked carefully.

"There is, as you know I've been searching for Drogon since that day." He stated calmly, at the mention of the dragon Tyrion shuddered. At one point in his life, he had marveled at the beast, he had always had an obsession with them when he was a child. So seeing one up close, it was in ways, a dream come true.

Daenerys, she had been so kind, so thoughtful, young but with incredible potential. He thought with his guidance he could steer her to the better path, the path _all_ of them wanted from her. But he had failed, he didn't see it in time, he was so blinded, so incredibly _stupid_.

He went back in time, five months ago when Daenerys had descended on Kings Landing. When dragon's fire rained down from the sky, ally by ally her rage consumed all within her wake, soldier and civilian, mercenary and ally she did not care whom she burned. The screams, oh gods the screams he still heard in his dreams and the scent of burned flesh and ash. How it choked the air, the sun blotted out for nearly a week from the amount of ash. 

"Have you been able to find him?" he asked pulling himself from his thoughts.

Bran frowned, his dark eyes dimming for a moment as he got lost in thoughts.

"That is the thing, I cannot find him, I was able to for a while, but was unable to gain control of his mind, he flew north, following something, and then one day...I could no longer find him." Tyrion frowned, that did not sound good, but perhaps in the cold of the North, was it possible for the dragon to succumb to it? He remembered Daenerys saying the dragons did not like the North.

"He is not dead, that I know, I would be able to see his corpse" The King stated before turning to Podrick.

"I would like to go to my study, please take me there," he asked gently. The Kingsguard nodded, Podrick approaching Bran and carefully pushed the King down the marble ramp that led up to the King's pedestal. Tyrion bowed his head and waited for the group of Kingsguard to escort the Stark King to his study. He followed along at a careful pace, taking time to stop and look out windows here and there. With Bran's help, the city was rebuilding quickly, the King finding ancient and helpful masonry techniques to return King's Landing back to its formal glory.

In the place where the Great Sept of Baelor once was, a monument was being constructed, in memory of those who perished not only for those who died in the attack on King's Landing but also for the ones who died before, during the war in the North as well as the war of the Five Kings. He didn't know what it was, only the King knew of what the final construction would be. It felt so strange yet, to be back here, to be Hand of the King once again.

It was strange to not see Lannister Lions or Baratheon Stags, the palace was so light and open now, it could be because half of it was still under construction, but it felt as if the old dark shadows of the past were gone now, the dragon's fire cleansing the palace and King's Landing from the sin's of both Cercei and all the madness that came before her, as well as the madness that came _that_ day.

Bran was wheeled into his study, two of the Kingsguard standing guard outside, they waited motionless as he passed by. At one point in time, walking into this study was quite literally like walking into the lion's den. Carefully he stepped into the study, at one point he had seen his father's unwavering gaze behind that desk, after that he would see Cersei's sneering face greeting him every time he walked in.

But now it was Bran, the neutral Stark King. Who looked so much like his father, it was a pity for him to be stuck in that chair, in another life he would be tall and standing as proud as his father had once done. Honorable and fearless, as Hand of the King Eddard brought with him the fair but stern hand of the North. An honorable man caused a great stir in the palace, he couldn't be bought or swayed, unmoving as a rock, stern and defiant able to stand up to King Robert's tantrums.

It was his greatest strength and weakness, if only Ned had learned to lie, perhaps so many things could be different.

 _'Then again, Ned did lie, he told the lie of a century, hiding a Targaryen Prince as his bastard'_ he thought to himself.

"Podrick, Vitus, you may leave us, I wish to converse with my Hand in private." The two Kingsguard bowed and turned in well-timed movements, nearly in sync as the two of them left, closing the door behind them.

"Vitus?" He asked, not recognizing the name. 

"Vitus of House Rykker, I watched him as he ran into burning houses, trying to save as many as he could that day, I thought him worthy for the crown, he has three younger brothers to carry on their houses name," Bran replied. Tyrion hummed under his breath, Rykker was a small but still rather influential House here in the Crownlands.

"I came here not to talk of my Kingsguard Tyrion, for the first time in a while, I am worried." Bran droned out, his brows for only a second furrowing before he turned to look out his window.

"Worried of what my King?" he asked stepping forward to push himself up in the seat across from the Stark. Bran remained silent for a few moments before looking back to him. "It is Jon, he too, I cannot see anymore, the last time I saw him he was leaving Tormund's people in the North," Bran explained a frown constant on his face. Tyrion felt his own brows furrowing.

"Leaving Tormund's people? But wasn't he sent North to nobly serve on Night's Watch?" he asked, but he knew full well that after all Jon had done, he wouldn't have stayed at Castle Black ever again. Bran caught on to his sarcasm and smiled. "His watch had ended long ago, I was content with him doing what he wished North of all this, we were raised as brothers, and I still consider him one after everything, he deserved to pursue what he wished for what he did for us all," Bran explained before frowning and looking down at his lap and desk in front of him.

"But, now you cannot see him." He commented. Bran nodded "He and Drogon went North, and then vanished from my sight, it cannot be a coincidence." The young King stated with a sigh. Tyrion frowned before rubbing his fingers against his chin, something he did whenever he was trying to think clearly.

"Perhaps I shall write to the new Lord Commander, see if they have seen or heard of anything, it would be a start." He suggested. Bran's eyes suddenly went milky-white for a split second, it always made him jump when the King did that. It was....unnerving to say the least.

Bran blinked, his eyes returning back to normal.

"No, they have not seen or heard anything, most of them seem to be content in claiming their own castles along the wall, it will not bode well for Queen Sansa, you should write to her, tell her to gather a garrison and go to the wall, remind them of their vows if she wishes to," Bran remarked and Tyrion filed that away as a top priority after this meeting.

"It shall be done your Grace, is there anything else you wish to speak of?" he asked. Bran frowned for a few seconds before nodding.

"Yes, you should go speak to Lord Commander Brienne, there is something important that she must admit to herself," Bran stated slowly before he leaned back in his chair. "That is all Lord Tyrion," He said before his eyes flashed milky white once more, the King sitting as still as a stone as his eyelids trembled and twitched over the pale orbs.

Quietly he slid down from the chair and walked towards the door, he paused as his hand reached for the handle, frowning, he turned back to his King. Bran's eyes flickered back and curiously Bran glanced over to him.

"Is there something else?" he asked languidly.

"I'm curious if you were to find Drogon, what would you do with him?" He asked carefully, studying the young Stark.

Bran blinked slowly, his wide dark eyes gazing at him thoughtfully before, with a careful and controlled movement the boy motioned towards the window.

"I'd fly Lord Tyrion, now, please leave us," He said leaning his head back before his eyes flashed over milky white for the third time.

Tyrion exited the study and walked outside and past the Kingsguard, several things all at once running through his mind. Firstly that letter to Sansa, secondly Brienne, but of all the things that clung to his thoughts. It was the comment 'I'd fly Lord Tyrion' What exactly did the King mean by that?


	5. What is Honor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, been busy with other story and life things. Please enjoy this chapter, these parts are slow right now because I want to give Jon's character growth and development a natural feel.

_Tyrion Lannister_

He walked up the many hundreds of steps to where the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was working in her tower. She was dubbed Lord Commander because she had proved to be invaluable and honorable when protecting and serving the Starks. She was also a skilled Knight with a level head on her shoulders, though she was young for a Commander she was both wise and loyal. Which in Westeros was an exceedingly rare combination of traits to find.

He knocked gently on the door to her study, a gentle 'Come in' bid his entry as he stepped in and noticed a strong draft within the room. He turned and noted a rather large gaping hole in the wall on one side of her study. He pursed his lips and ignored it, for now, a net was covering the hole keeping birds from entering into her study.

"They assure me it will be fixed soon," Brienne said from behind her desk, motioning for him to sit. He pushed himself up into the seat and looked across at the Commander. Her hair much more fuller but still the same short style cut, her face seemed brighter and clearer, no longer having to trek through the wilds of Westeros and fighting in battle after battle.

"You look to be in fine health, your new position has you radiating Ser Brienne" he greeted her kindly with a smile. A flicker of a smile fluttered to her lips before they fell in a frown. "Is something the matter?" He asked her. Her bright blue eyes widened for a second before she shook her head, sighing she motioned to the book in front of her.

"I am updating the Book of Brothers," she said softly motioning to an incredibly large book in the middle of her desk, pages dark and faded the color off white with gold stitching.

"Ah" He commented with a frown, Brienne cleared her throat.

"I just finished his," She said glancing down at the table, he could see a slight quiver in her lower lip.

He remained silent for a moment, reflecting on the memories of his brother, their's was a complicated relationship. He the black sheep, the child no one loved, while Jaime had been the golden son, the strong and proud heir...and yet they were friends and brothers. At times during their lives, they grew apart, Jaime being contorted and controlled by Cersei's claws...but in the end, those last few years, they rekindled that bond, cared for one another, _loved_ one another as brothers would.

"I'm sure he would be happy to know that someone cared enough to write down his good deeds...I truly do think that for a time, he thought it was impossible for him to achieve such things." He commented leaning back in his chair, he glanced out the window, looking westward towards home. To the final resting place of his brother. There was an oak tree planted outside Casterly Rock, he and Jaime would ride their horses around it while Cersei sat beneath the tree reading a book.

They were so very young then, back before the wars, back before all the politics, a time when the had just been children. Later on, in life Jaime had told him about the significance of that tree, it was where he and Cersei had first kissed. The fact still astounded him to this day how openly in love the two of them were, but he didn't judge them, at least not Jaime, he had and always will be his brother.

So it felt fitting to take their ashes back home and bury them beneath the old roots of that tree. In a few year's time, a monument would be placed for both of them. A marker stating that they had been here on this earth and that they would be remembered. At least he hoped anyway.

"He was a good man and a Knight, honorable and true, I don't care what other's say," Brienne stated fiercely, a strength glimmering in her eyes.

"Of course you don't" he replied with a grin drawing her attention.

"My father, Tywin Lannister would always quote that _'The Lion does not concern themselves with the thoughts of sheep.'_ " He uttered out, it felt strange to say those words, to hear his voice say the words his father had always waved around.

"I am not a lion" Brienne replied gently, frowning as she leaned back, her body moving stiffly in her golden armor, decorated with ravens and wolves.

"You have the hair for it" He quipped back managing to draw a chuckle from her.

"But you are right, the only Lion left is little old me...well for now, and if the gods are good..." he trailed off and cleared his throat not wishing to discuss _that_ conversation here.

"I forgot to congratulate you, it skipped my mind, I am sure the gods will bless you two with many children." She stated, her hand reaching forward to fumble with something on her desk. He smiled but narrowed his eyes as he studied her, she seemed...evasive and worried about something.

"I thank you Lord Commander...however I can't help but notice you are...perturbed about something, is there anything I can do? I can make the mason's fix that faster if you wish." He stated pointing to the hole in the wall. Brienne smiled at the suggestion but shook her head eyes still avoiding his.

"I am perfectly fine Lord Tyrion, just many things on my mind, having to rebuild the Castle guard from the ground up." She replied motioning to the many piles of scrolls and notes littered all over her desk.

He frowned "I can help if you wish, you do not need to bear that burden entirely." He eased out, trailing his eyes over her more intently, what was it she was hiding?

 _'There is something important that she must admit to herself'_ Bran's flat voice echoed in his mind.

"You have more pressing items to worry about, don't you? Instead of burying yourself in this work." He claimed motioning to her desk and it's state of being. Her eyes darted into his, face growing pale as she stared wide-eyed into his.

"I..how do...I.." Brienne trailed off hitting her lower lip she glanced down before crossing her arms in front of herself.

In all his time knowing the woman he had never seen her act like so, to act so vulnerable and afraid about something.

"Brienne, I want you to know, you can speak to me in confidence, I'm not here as the Hand of the King, I am here as a friend...what's wrong?" he asked gazing of her.

"It's not...something _wrong_ , it isn't wrong, at least...to me it isn't..." She stated leaning forward and resting her elbows on her desk, hanging her head. One of her hands coming up to run through her hair, ruffling it between her fingers as she scratched her scalp.

"Okay, it's not wrong, I believe you, then what is the item in question?" He asked her carefully, sliding off of his chair he walked over to her calmly, setting a hand softly on her shoulder, she glanced over at him, her azure eyes glimmering beneath golden blonde lashes.

"Not an item, a person....a Bastard to be exact," she said gently her brows furrowing.

"A Bastard? Are they someone you wish to have on the Kingsguard? I am sure King Bran would overlook that rule if they were skilled enough." He explained carefully, unsure of how a Bastard could affect her like- _oh_.

It was beginning to dawn on him, her physical appearance, the worry she had, the reaction she had when he pried.

"Ser Brienne...are you with child?" he asked her as delicately as possible glancing towards her stomach buried beneath her armor. Instantly she put both hands to her belly, lip quivering she nodded. "I didn't think it possible...at my age...with how I am...I...we...it was only the one night" She explained with a deep blush on her features, avoiding his eyes.

A swirl of questions formed in his mind, but not wanting to pressure her he stayed silent, it was clear this information was almost devastating to her.

"Do...you not wish to have the child...I can get-" Brienne gave him a look that could make a snake recoil at the intensity of her glare. He closed his mouth and wisely remained silent.

"I don't...I don't know what to do Tyrion, my mother passed birthing me, I grew up as a soldier and a fighter...I've never learned how to mother...a part of me thinks if I don't pay attention to it...it will go away, another part of me is so happy...that I get to keep a part of _him_ alive." She stated her hand coming forward to pat the Book of Brothers.

His eyes widened and he now understood who the father was. _Jaime_. He had assumed that they had been good friends and when they were at Winterfell, playing his drinking game he had assumed he had just made it awkward for them. He didn't...he never expected...

"I see...I" he hesitated for a moment before he reached over and put both hands on her shoulders, tilting her towards him to face her.

"Whatever you need, whatever you wish, I will help, you are not alone in this Brienne...there was another saying my father would always tell me _'Lions look to their own'_ and I swear to you I will do just that." The Lord Commander's eyes watered as a sob began to take her face, she wrapped her arms around him, her weight dragging into him but he didn't mind. He held her tightly, glancing at the Book of Brothers he sent a promise to Jaime's spirit.

 _'I will look after her Jaime, her and the little one, your legacy WILL live on, I swear it, on both the old god's and the new.'_ He thought in his mind, hoping that wherever his brother was, he could hear him and know.

_Jon_

Sailing on a ship was a strange tedium to him. The first few days took some adjustment. After being alone for nearly two months in the wilderness, to be suddenly thrusted into a world of noise, smells, and most importantly _people_ it was quite an adjustment, to say the least. He developed a schedule to help him ease into life aboard the vessel. In the morning he would go and comb out Frost, make sure he had food and water, take him out and walk him in many small circles in the hold of the ship before returning him to his stall.

Then he would take Ghost up to the deck, the two of them would keep their distance from the sailor's who seemed to not pay any mind to him, so long as he kept out of their way. Drogon would be following along after the ship, at times he would stop to watch the mighty dragon dive down into the water and bring up a small whale calf, seal, or shark for him to eat. He smiled when he viewed this, the simple act of eating, how the dragon would toss it's prey up into the sky, blast it with a short burst of black fire before swallowing it whole, it was in incredible thing to watch.

After Frost and Ghost were seen to, he would return to his cabin and dine on the tray of food that was brought and placed on his table, while he ate he would carefully begin to read over the many books Kinvara had given him. Usually, once he was finished eating she would appear, polite and reserved she would enter and sit across from him, and they would begin their instruction, her telling him as much of the history of Valyria she could, then she would move into the language, speaking slow and easy, enough for him to understand and pick up.

He wasn't the best student, he was never good with book learning, he had always been a student of action. Preferring sword and bow, hunting, and fighting versus the seeming mundane politics that Measter Luwin taught. He would repeat after her, and at times she would say something in High Valyrian before having him translate back.

The learning was slow at first, he made many mistakes and got frustrated and confused with everything, words, and meanings swirling around in his mind never making sense. But, as day's bleed into weeks, he learned. After language, she would give him exercises, makeup scenario's and have him come up with solutions. These lessons reminded him of Measter Luwin as well, the older man would test Robb and even Bran on things of this nature, they were the next heir's to Winterfell's seat so of course, they were taught these things.

Serving as Commander of the Night's Watch, and even as the King in the North did give him some hand's on experience on how to answer these questions. But Kinvara was good and at coming up with scenario's he'd never thought of.

"A man who had served you for year's loyally and faithfully suddenly appears at your gate with a substantial army, all attempts at peaceful negotiations have been burned, what do you do?" was one that she asked today. He frowned and contemplated for a few seconds.

"I am guessing I am in my hold or castle?" he asked, she nodded her eyes closing as she did then reopening to study him, waiting for a reply.

"I would do my best to get a message out to other allies, have them come to my aid until then hold off this army as much as possible, put all within the walls on rations and limit the use of supplies." He explained leaning back in his chair. "What if the allies come and decide to side with him? They see a Lord stuck in a castle, weak and incapable of striking back, many men would take the chance to better their standings." Kinvara stated lifting a brow.

He sighed "I would survive for as long as I could, then sue for peace, I will not starve my people or men like Stannis did." He retorted shaking his head thinking about the grim Baratheon.

"So you throw open your gates, hoping that they show mercy...and what if they don't Jon? What if they kill every last man, woman, and child." He remained silent for a moment, turning his head to look out the window. A hand reaching down to pat Ghost on the head.

"If this enemy was never able to be negotiated with, then, it was better a quick death than a slow one from starving, if this old 'friend' of mind truly did this, slaughtered men, women and children who had surrendered, he would be known for it, no one would trust him after that and others will team up behind his back to get rid of him." He answered, thinking at how so many small houses in the North came together to just narrowly defeat the Bolten's defenses of Winterfell.

"Ah, so you hope that you and your people's deaths become a catalyst for betrayal...they would turn and strike the usurper down, and just as fast as they secured their positions, _others_ will come and stab them in the back, faster and faster it would go until either all or dead or only one remains." She commented pursing her lips and sighing as she too looked to the window.

He frowned, he hadn't thought that far ahead. Once people learn they can't trust _any_ of their allies...it would be a war, a war on constant sides until _someone_ reigned supreme.

"Countless war's and bloodshed, all because you wished for your people to have quick deaths," Kinvara said carefully.

He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead with his hand in frustration.

"If I can't peacefully end the hostilities, and none of my allies come to my aid, what am I to do? Let my people starve to death? Run out of the keep into a slaughter? Either way, we die." He said firmly, glaring at Kinvara.

"There is other options you never considered, a single man with a knife sneaking into the camp and slaughtering your foe for instance." She retorted giving him a knowing look. He scoffed "A coward and a traitor route, only men without honor would do such a thing." He explained shaking his head.

"The man at your gates has proven to be dishonorable, why not fight him with his own methods? Who says what is honorable or not, is it better for one man to die a traitor's way than an entire castle of people to a traitor?" She asked standing up and walking over to a nearby pitcher that had been placed for them, pouring herself some water. She motioned to the other cup then to him. He gave a nod and she filled one for him as well.

"Others would find out I sent an assassin, claim I was a dishonest man and a coward." He replied with a frown.

"Yet your people would still be alive, your land's would know peace and not be dragged into countless battles of backstabbing, the people would talk for a time, but...people are bored easily and would talk of other things, your sleight of dishonorable hand would soon be forgotten." She suggested sitting herself down across from him.

"The North remembers," He remarked looking the Priestess in the eye as she slid his cup of water over to him. He took it and sipped it carefully before setting it down.

"Fine, if they remember that, then also remind them who was the man who swore fealty then betrayed you, who was the man who called you friend then raised an army against you, sometimes you must fight fire..with fire, betrayal with betrayal, no one can always be honorable, look to the gods, you hear stories of them betraying each other, why would you expect more from men?" She questioned, her eyes and words digging beneath his flesh making him feel uncomfortable, making him question and try to come up with an excuse.

He stood up and scratched the back of his head, pacing the floor a few times he tried to get his thought's in order, words flitting about in his mind like the buzzing of numerous insects swarming over a corpse.

"Your right, no one is entirely honorable," He said halting in his tracks turning and meeting her gaze.

"The man who taught me honor and faith, lied to me my entire life, to protect me...every person I've ever met has lied or betrayed someone in their lives." He explained with a sigh before swallowing the dry lump in his throat "I...I betrayed my Queen, the woman I..." He cut himself off. "I'm not honorable, I've never claimed to be after that." He sighed out, his voice just a whisper.

"Yet still you go by this belief of it, view everything and everyone around you on this...pedestal that _you_ place of what is honorable or not," Kinvara commented frowning as she reached up and adjusted a lock of her hair, twirling it around her finger a few times before tucking it behind her ear.

"Because, even if I ain't honorable, you should still... _try_ , you can't just give up, you should always want to do the right thing, do things the right way." He explained before lowering himself in his seat once more.

"That is admirable, it truly is, however, you must learn that sometimes the right thing, is the dishonorable action, but...you already know that don't you." She said carefully and left it at that. He glanced over at her studying her for a few seconds before stating down into the mug of water, viewing his reflection on the surface.

"You have a unique position, Jon, you have a vantage very few ever see, to be able to look at both sides and see what is best for all...so many people get blinded by what is best for them and their own, never looking to other's or their allies...it is what makes you a good King...however it is also a weakness to be exploited," Kinvara stated folding her hands in front of her as she tilted her head and caught his eye.

She must have seen the confusion on his face because she cleared her throat and continued.

"You see and hope for the best in people, take them at their word, thinking that they...like you, wish to achieve an honorable status" She explained, pursing her lips she picked up her cup and took a small sip before speaking again.

"Look what happened to Lord Glover, twice he said he would be there for you, and twice he failed, each time you forgave him..." She hummed under her breath waiting for his reply.

"It's not a mistake I will make again," He replied with a frown.

"No, you won't, but there will be others who fail you in other ways, take advantage of you in ways you hadn't thought of yet...which is why you need to learn to be on the offensive at all times." Kinvara professed giving him a hard look. He remained silent, he didn't like this idea at all.

"Sansa Stark had learned this lesson in life, she learned from the best...or in your opinion the worst." He grunted and shook his head, he was not going to be like Cersei or Little Finger, he was not a weaver of lies and deceit, nor would he ever become one.

"I am not asking you to be a master of whispers, I am only asking you to stop being naive, if you are to defeat the Black Wolf you must prepare against them in all ways, not just on the battlefield, but in politics as well, there is more to being a King then winning wars." She said finishing her cup of water and setting it down on the table firmly.

"Let me guess, you are going to teach me?" he asked. Surprisingly, she shook her head.

"You will learn in time by yourself, I will only be here to guide you, little do you know, but you have already set out on that path." She stated standing up and adjusting her gown. He wondered if she only had one or if she had several of the exact same dress for he never seen her in anything else.

"What if I don't want to be like that? What if I want to do it my way?" He asked her accusingly.

She smiled "I am sure Sansa, Little Finger, and Cersei said the exact same thing Jon Snow...now, forgive me but I grow weary and must rest, please be sure to finish your reading, I will test you on it tomorrow." She instructed as she bowed her head to him and left. Leaving him confused and annoyed at the conversation they had.

He glanced down to Ghost who sat up and rested his chin against his lap. He leaned forward and stroked both sides of the dog's head.

"What do you think boy? Am I going to be the next Spider?" he asked the wolf. Ghost yawned and shook his body, causing him to grin and chuckle at the large creature.

"Nah, your probably right, too much of a Northern fool...but...perhaps we can work on that fool part eh?" He said standing up and walking towards the door. Ghost jumping next to him as the wolf rushed to get outside to the deck.

He and the wolf taking a break and walking up into the fresh air he breathed in calmly at the sharp, frigid sea air. Making his way to the prow he glanced upwards into the sky to Drogon who was circling overhead easily. He shifted his gaze lower before squinting at a shape in the distance.

 _An Island_. Foggy and blurred, perhaps a day's sailing away. His heart sped up, perhaps this is the island they were meant to find? Could it happen so quickly? Ghost stood and placed both of his paws over the rail and Jon instinctively grabbed a hold of the wolf's neck tuft, not wanting the beast to slip overboard.

"What do you think boy? That what we looking for?" He asked the wolf, Ghost tilted his head back as he panted and stared up at him with his wide ruby-colored eyes. Overhead Drogon roared out, perhaps in reply to his question, despite not being near the dragon, he had a feeling that this Island was not meant to be the one, but he had never been one to give up so soon.

"Perhaps not boy, but I know we'll find what we are looking for eventually" He murmured to the Direwolf, this time Ghost barked up at him before wagging his tail. He chuckled and lifted Ghost off of the rail then pointed to the other end of the deck.

"Come one then, we have reading to do." He said before leading the dog back into his room. As he read he couldn't help but think in the back of his mind, what exactly kind of King did Kinvara want him to be?


End file.
